Dark Shadows on the Horizon
by BetaRho
Summary: Coming to the town of Fallcrest, Lairelandon is hit broadside by an assortment of incidents that land him on a journey to uproot the dark reign of a band of mercenaries known as 'The Iron Circle' and their leader, a mysterious man named Nazin.
1. Chasing Chickens

It falls... It falls so very slowly, fluttering in the breeze and dancing along every gust of warm summer wind. Twisting and turning it around the old, knotted branches it falls ever downward. Upon the end of its journey, the delicate leaf floats to a soft landing upon his sleeping face. The grass around him is wet with fresh morning dew and the air still carries the smell of last night's rain. Off in the distance the sweet morning calls of a songbird bring start to the new day as the sun begins to bare its face, its beautiful red glow illumining the scenery. Atop the hill, the lone willow stands amidst a sea of grass, swaying in the morning air. Waves of grass ripple through the field, a slow movement befitting the peacefulness of this natural Eden. Below the willows weeping branches he lays, visions of a past to be forgotten and a hopeful future to come swirl in his mind.

Five years ago he started running, and for half a decade he's continued running to escape a past clouded with darkness and bloodstained hands. Long ago he was abandoned by the world he once loved and in return he abandoned her. His heart still yearns to return to the wilds of the Fey but his mind knows the impossibilities of such a dream. The days have been long and weary and the road ahead is still shadowed with unknown mysteries. He knows not where he is headed, but part of him keeps urging his body to move forward. He spends most of his days journeying along the untrodden paths of the forests, wandering from one town to another. He collects money completing odd jobs for strangers and citizens alike, using it to pay for supplies and the nights he spends in local inns. He's a drifter now, never staying long in one place and almost constantly on the move because some part of him believes that he can escape the memories by simply walking.

The rising sun warms his face and he opens his eyes, the thin leaf resting upon his brow brings a smile to his face as he brushes it aside along with a few loose hairs. His hair sways in the morning wind as he stands watching the awakening town on the horizon. He finds himself standing atop a hill just outside the town of Fallcrest, a small township standing amid the Moon Hill at the falls of the Nentir Vale. The town is protected by a large stone wall at the north, south and east ends with the Nentir River to the west. A large cliff runs east and west through the town's center, separating it into two tiered districts. From where he stands he can see another hill at the northeast corner of the town, what appears to be a small keep standing atop it's plateaued peak. There seems to be a small market at the town's center below the cliff line, he decides that to be his destination as descends the hill towards the town's southern gate.

For a city based around trade and travellers the roads seem as though to be untouched by cartwheel or foot for days, although a few carts appear to be on the road this morning. Taking a closer look at some of the wagons as he passes them he notices that these are not the wagons of your average adventuring traders, but rather they are beaten from many days of travel and some are already falling apart at the hinges,. They look as though to be fleeing from something, the somber faces of many families filling their interiors. When approaches one cart to question where they hail from the driver looks at him with a saddened expression and in almost a whisper of a voice, the voice of one who has lost all hope, proclaims he and his family travel from the city of Harken. As he tries to pry further though as to what caused them to leave the man looks away and says to question someone else, tugging at his horse's reins and urging it forward. With an annoyed sigh and a shake of its head the exhausted horse trudges forward with much effort, dragging the heavy cart behind it. After attempting to question a few others and gaining little results, he pieces the sparse bits of information together to infer that some tragedy has befallen the once great city of Harken and that some mercenary group lead by a strange man stands at the center of its cause. He ponders this strange situation a little further but then proceeds to push it to the back of his mind as he continues along the road towards the Fallcrest, believing that there isn't much he can do for the refugees from Harken in his current state.

Soon he enters through the vast gates of Fallcrest's southern wall, pushing through the crowded streets as he moves towards the market district. Intently focused on his destination he wades through the crowd, completely ignoring the urge to pilfer a few coins from the pockets of the unaware. He finally escapes the vast swarm of people containing mainly refugees only to be totally caught off guard by the sudden attack of one very angry, frightened chicken. His eyes go wide from the surprise encounter as the frantic bird flies headlong right into his face, knocking him completely off his feet and onto his back. Dazed and confused he just lays there on the dusty road for a moment, staring straight ahead with a bewildered expression and then proceeds to stand back up and dust himself off. He shakes the dust out of his hair and then looks around slightly annoyed to locate the offender. He spots the little demon running, jumping and flailing into the market with about the same level of vigor from when it struck him, also noticing that the coin pouch on his belt feels oddly lighter than a few moments ago. The mere thought of this cause him to turn his gaze downwards and inspect the place where his gold would normally be hanging...

"Orcus damn that foul bird! I can't believe I was robbed blind by a simple chicken!"

Jumping into a mad dash, the very annoyed Lairelandon charges after the devious bird in an attempt to retain some level of dignity and regain the gold that has been funding his survival up to this point. The chase does not get off to a good start however as Laire turns a very sharp corner around some merchant stalls only to find a wagon of flour sacks directly blocking his path. Quick thinking as he is however, Laire plants his hands on the wagon-bed mid-dash, using it as a springboard to shift his momentum upwards, and bounds over the wagon with ease. He flies through the air doing a slight flip forwards so as to land on his feet again and continue without faltering, a slight smirk on his face as he does so. Unfortunately this moment of spectacular acrobatic skill comes to an abrupt halt as he vaults full on into a merchants fruit stand, melons, apples and bits of splintered wood flying in all directions. From the glorious mess rises Laire, now coated in bits of fruit and potentially more irate than the speechless Halfling that he ignores as he returns to his chase with an apple in hand and orange pulp dripping from his face. Raising his arm to his face, he bites down on the fresh apple, his gaze still intently placed on the demon bird as it waddles away. After regaining the distance he just lost from the last accident he begins to catch up on the chicken, weaving in and out of stalls as they race back and forth through the market. The feathered beast now almost within reach an evil grin appears on Laire's face and is immediately wiped from it as a runaway barrel of ale from a pub's morning shipment collides with his right leg, running him down and sending him reeling through the air. Instinct saves his fall as he performs an off balance tumble that lands him back on his feet and sends him again to chase now fuming from his horrible luck. The chase proceeds for roughly 5 more minutes before Laire finally comes back within reach of the thief, reaching his arms forward to grab hold of it. He swipes the chicken from its feet, holding it in the air by its neck with an evil smile that would make even the greatest of demons cower in fear.

He tears his coin-purse from the clutches of the bird's beak, reattaching it to his belt and then proceeds to shove the bird into his pack where it will remain until he can think of what to do with the creature. The squawking and frantic flailing of the bird caught quite the bit of attention however and not seconds later Laire turns around to find a not so impressed guard standing behind him, arms crossed and eyebrow raised in question. The guard doesn't even wait for answers as he grabs Laire by the scruff of his shirt and drags him to the town jail where he is thrown into a rather large cell, landing on his stomach in a puddle of questionable contents in the center. Standing with a groan, he becomes aware of a noticeably intoxicated dwarf sitting in the corner drinking away from a tankard that's obviously empty and singing a merry tune that may or may not be in dwarvish.

His horribly slurred song over, the dwarf now takes notice of Laire, slaps his knee and let's out quite the laugh, " Sooooo, whar you 'n fer me boy?"

Laire responds with a confused expression, trying to hold in his laughter at the dwarf's speech, "Long story short, I've been thrown in here for stashing away a chicken in my cloak"

The dwarf looks at him quite quizzically, "An how 'n the name'v the 'eavans did ya manage t' git nentire roast chickn?"

His head hanging in slight shame, he replies, "It was a live chicken actually, the damned bird stole my coins and I caused quite the ruckus trying to regain them."

The dwarf almost doubles over in laughter, but in between the hearty chuckling Laire manages to gather, "You... bird... 'n yer shirt... funniest thing've heard... Oh I'm gonna wet meself boy, how dumb can ya be?"

Before Laire can even protest to the uproar, the cell door swings open as two more are thrown in, narrowly missing him as he steps back in surprise. A rather flustered elf and one very large and unfriendly looking Dragonborn have now joined them, the elf seeming to be completely confused as to his current situation and the Dragonborn yelling after the guard while banging his massive fist against the bars. This stops the dwarf mid-laugh and he stands, looking about as sober as he can probably manage.

"You should calm down me boy, you're gonna break yer hand if ya keep at that little tantrum of yers."

The golden Dragonborn turns his gaze, still slightly enraged, "Silence your mouth dwarf before I silence it for you."

"Ah it appears I haven't introduced meself yet. The name is Urist my friend, and who may you be?" says the dwarf with a raise of his tankard

With a grumble the half-dragon replies, "Thyllan, now mind your own business drunkard."

Now seeming tired of his irate acquaintance, Urist turns to Laire and the elf. "And what of you two?"

"My name is Lairelandon, but you may refer to me as Laire if you wish," Laire declares to his new companion, with a slight bow

The elf pipes in a few seconds later after gathering his words, " And I'm umm Roland, and I'm not supposed to be here."

Suddenly the guard returns, "Still proclaiming your innocence eh elf?" He unlatches the cell door and motions for them to move, "The four of you are to come with me, unless of course your prefer to stay in this cell."

Without so much as a complaint the four move to follow the guard as he leads them out of the jail and back onto the streets of Fallcrest. They're taken through the town, passing by many buildings as they work their way towards the cliff-side path that leads up into the northern district. The winding path that travels up the height of the cliff face is steep and with their quick pace the group is forced to stop for a quick rest when they reach the top.

"Twas no dwarf that built such a deadly stair climb, I can assure you of that" complains Urist as he gasps for some more air.

In agreement Laire nods and adds in, "I can only imagine how horrible that must have been for one of your stature."

"You calling me short boy?"

Laire laughs, and winks cheekily, "I would never think of it."

After they all manage to catch their breath, some requiring more time than others, the group continues onwards as guard urges them towards the stone keep standing at the northeast corner of the town. Merely a few minutes pass as they approach the large stone structure and are quickly rushed through the front gates and towards the main door. The guard stops them at the door and continues inside telling them to wait there and after a long silence he returns and motions for them to enter.

"Lord Warden Markelhay will see you now"

The guard leads the four through the great hall of the structure and into a small study where a man sits behind his desk, reading over maps and various letters. He barely acknowledges them as they enter but waves the guard to leave without so much as even looking up from his charts.

"Were you explained as to why you were called here?"

Thyllan steps forward, slightly annoyed, "Not in the slightest, but I would like some answers."

"Calm yourself Dragonborn or I may be inclined to send you back to a smaller cell where you can remain. Now it's not often that we get four of your sort in this town of ours, but I can't say that's a bad thing as the four of you have been making quite the commotion since your arrival. From drunken preaching, to swinging Halflings around like swords, to... putting chickens in your shirt?"

It's Laire's turn to step forward in reply now, "It's a rather long and embarrassing story sir."

The man lifts his head and removes his spectacles, eyebrow raised, "I'm sure it is, anyways..." His eyes now catching the elf standing there awkwardly, "Wait, why are you here again?"

Stumbling with his words a little he replies, "I myself am not even sure of that to be honest. But -"

Cutting him off there, the man continues. "Well no matter, you're here now. You see we stand in dark times, lately there have been many refugees fleeing the City of Harken to the east of here, and many rumors have followed them of a group of mercenaries known as 'The Iron Circle' that has been terrorizing the land. They're lead by an odd man named Nazin, of which we know little, who has been wreaking havoc in the area of Harken for years now. Many a town have been raged by his men and he appears to have gathered himself a vast army of mages, adepts and the like as well as quite the militia. Our spies tell us that he plans to march on Harken shortly and well I am requesting your aid in this matter seeing as how you seem like the adventuring sort of folk."

Thyllan then cuts in, "What's in it for us?"

And without so much as missing a beat, the Lord Warden responds again, "Your freedom. That and all charges against you will be dropped, including the cost for one badly damaged fruit stand." He raises an eyebrow again in question.

"I see no issue with this deal at all and will be glad to accept it," announces Laire in a very quick speech

The others nod in agreement, settling the matter once and for all.

He smiles, "I figured as much. Now off with you, I'll have the guard bring you to the inn, your rooms have already been paid for. You will be given supplies and a map in the morning and any further questions can be answered then. Please leave, I have much work to do now."

And so the four new companions exit the study and eventually the keep as they head off to to prepare for the task that has been so abruptly placed upon them.


	2. Broken Caravans and Hardened Steel

The chimes ring as the door swings open, a rather interesting group of four entering the store's small front room. A large humanoid being known as a Dragonborn appears to lead the group, he stands roughly six and one half feet in height, with broad shoulders and large, barreled chest. A mane of sharp ebony spines descend the length of his back from the base of his neck to the tip of his long tail, and chromatic golden scales encase the whole of his body creating a natural armour. He's garbed in a light mail that covers his torso and legs and wields an extremely large double-bladed battle-axe on his back in broad view for all to see. To his immediate right stands a man with the stereotypical slender, athletic figure of an elf, a trait befitting of those who spend their lives leaping through trees. Left of the Dragonborn is a stout looking dwarf. Behind the rest as though to stand in the shadows is a man similar in build to the elf except for the long silver hair and solid, bright amber eyes that lack pupils characteristic to the Eladrin race. He wears a long green cloak clasped at the front with a silver broach bearing the symbol of the goddess Avandra, concealing two well-crafted twin katars belted to either hip and. Selarund looks up and welcomes the day's first customers with a bright smile, paying little attention to the odd strangers. The Dragonborn steps ahead of the rest, eyeing the wares with an uninterested expression.

"Welcome to The Halfmoon General Store, where we sell everything from milk to maps. How can I assist you fine gentlemen today?"

The large, hulking Dragonborn before him mumbles sarcastically, "Catchy name. We'd like to purchase a map of the Nentir Vale, along with 5 days' worth of rations."

"I'd be more than happy to fill that request for you, unfortunately though due to a minor incident yesterday I'm a little short on fresh fruit. Are the any objections to dried fruit and seed?" Twiddling his thumbs awkwardly as he says so.

Grumbling slightly the Dragonborn responds with a shrug, "I prefer meat anyways. How about the rest of you?"

A silver-haired Eladrin steps forward in response, "I have none, although would you be so kind as to package the seeds separate from the meat? I've never been one to partake of flesh and wish for it not to contaminate my food."

Selarund twitches slightly at the sight of the Eladrin, remembering him as the one from yesterday that so carelessly destroyed his fruit stand. He chokes down his annoyance as he spits out his answer, "Very well sir. That will be 10 gold in total for the items."

Suddenly Selarund is lifted off the floor by his shirt collar, the Dragonborn holding him a few feet in the air. He bares his teeth slightly with an intimidating growl and looks the startled Halfling in the eyes.

"I beg your pardon? How much was that again?"

Selarund stumbles with his words, stuttering slightly, "D-d-d-did I say 10? I meant 5, 5 gold. That'll be 5 gold for the items, please don't eat me I have a family!" He throws his hands up to protect his face and starts crying in terror.

The Dragonborn, smirks contentedly in triumph, "That's what I thought you said."

The old dwarf next to him, let's out an irritated 'humph', "Put the poor man down Dragonborn, there's no need to bludgeon your way through everything."

With a laugh the Dragonborn lowers the cowering Halfling to the ground who proceeds to run full as fast his legs can carry him to the back of the shop and gather together all of the necessary supplies for the adventurers. He returns nearly as quickly as he left with a stack of various packages of smoked and salted meats, along with two large sacks of seed and dried fruit and a rolled up piece of parchment tucked neatly under his left arm. As the Dragonborn stores away the meats in his pack, the Eladrin and elf grab a bag of seed each and the dwarf takes hold of the map. The Eladrin drops 5 gold pieces on the counter bowing with a gracious thank you and then follows his companions as they exit the small shop.

Laire tries to hold back his laughter as they leave the shop but gains little success, letting out a slight chuckle and a wide smirk as the door swings shut behind him. They continue on their way, making quick exit of the town, Laire silently smiling to himself the entire way about the chaos of yesterday. The journey through Fallcrest is not very eventful, not much happening other than the usual busy activity of the market place and the crowded streets from new refugee caravans looking for a safe haven. The group stops shortly after leaving the eastern gate, Urist unfurling the map to gain a glance at the journey that lies before them on their path to the city of Harken. He scowls slightly when he sees that they'll be travelling along the King's Road for the entire distance, it's seen its fair share of highwaymen over the past few months so they're sure to run into some trouble along the way.

The caravans grow more sparse as their distance from the town increases, the dusty, old trail now completely void of activity after roughly three hours of travel. And with the day reaching its end as the sun begins each descent below the horizon, a harsh wind begins to blow across the land. The travelers, now thoroughly chilled to the bone make the decision to set up camp for the night and continue at dawn.

Unfurling a light blanket to shield himself with for the night, Laire looks to Urist and the others.

"As I require no sleep, I shall take first watch tonight if there are no objections."

Urist, rather intrigued by the comment, is the first to respond. "I'd always heard rumours that those of your kind never sleep, but never did I think it more than just that."

"Indeed it is true my friend, we require little more than a light meditative state. It allows us to remain aware of our surroundings even while resting our bodies and minds. Perfect for when travelling through the dangerous wilds of the Fey."

The dwarf nods, and with that the others each make bed at their respective places around the small fire that Roland prepared. Laire grabs his blanket, wrapping himself in it, and assumes a sitting position opposite the very loudly snoring Urist. Other than the sounds of his already sleeping companions, the air is rather quite this night. The peacefulness of it seems almost out of place when the world around them stands on the verge of utter chaos. It seems almost eerily silent however; the forest seems void of any sound other than the howling winds and incredibly loud snoring.

"Honestly, how can anybody sleep through that? He sounds like an earthquake that could crumble mountains."

He readjusts his blankets and tries to blot out the noises coming from in front of him when suddenly he hears something off, something different from the other noises. It's so faint that he nearly missed it; almost as though it were coming from somewhere off in the distance. But then it grows louder as it nears, an eerie howling that differs from that of the wind in the trees. This howling is far from that of the wind, indeed it is that of something much more animalistic. Realizing what it is, Laire rushes to wake his companions, grabbing his weapons in the process and readying them for the coming storm. They all clamber to their feet, tripping over themselves and each other in the sudden confusion and there they stand, Laire with his twin blades, Thyllan and Urist with their large, heavy battle axes, and Roland with his bow drawn and ready. All of them waiting for that which lies beyond the light of the fire.

The shadows move… a figure… something stands on the edge of the shadows, pacing back and forth on all fours. It moves back and forth as if eying its prey when more shapes appear beside it, all of them now standing there, awaiting their chance to strike. The air is stiff, the moment so tense that even the slightest movement from either side could be noticed in an instant.

The shadow lunges from the darkness and chaos ensues, the first blow thrown as it goes for Laire's throat. He lifts his arms just in time to block the vicious, razor sharp fangs of the savage wolf, but the two get sent tumbling towards the ground. He falls hard on his back, the wolf standing on his chest, snapping at him as he tries to fight it off. Somehow he manages to get his feet placed under the wolf and gives it a massive shove. His foot contacting the wolf square in the jaw, Thyllan brings down his heavy axe to finish the job. He misses, axe scoring a nice chunk out of the dirt as the wolf dodges to one side just in time. Urist brings his axe around in a great swing, bashing one wolf in its ribs and cracking a few. A stick breaks below Roland's feet as he takes a step back, letting fly a volley of arrows straight towards the wolf's face. Narrowly dodging the attack, Laire leaps up and charges at the wolf, leaping to the side as the wolf lunges towards him a second time and buries his blade into the side of its throat. He pulls his axe from the ground and catches the wolf in mid jump, cracking its skull wide open wide a loud crunch. Reversing direction, he brings his axe back and jabs the second wolf in the left temple with enough force that the hilt of his weapon digs deep within the beast's skull. The wolf jumps back, escaping the arrows but in its moment of distraction it failed to notice Roland running towards it. Dragging his blade the full length of the canine's side, a great, thin arc of blood sprays through the air, coating the trees and staining the night sky. Dropping the blood soaked axe, he grabs the next wolf by the mouth and wrenches its jaw apart with his bare hands, snapping its neck and tossing it aside. Throwing the wolf away, Urist spins his ax, blood arcing in all directions, and places it back in its holster on his back. Grabbing a fresh arrow from the quiver on his back, Roland jumps over the wolf and lets loose the arrow straight into the beast's eye as he soars upside down over it mid-flip, landing gracefully on his feet behind the dead animal.

The last of the wolves now dead or gone, the men sheath their weapons and stumble back over to the fire. Fully exhausted now, they collectively slump to the ground and without so much as a sound other than the odd grunt, they each proceed to fall into a much needed and well deserved rest. When morning finally comes, they cleanup quickly, destroying the fire, and make their way back onto the empty road. The roads are completely void of activity, as is to be expected this early in the morning and this close to Harken.

It remains as such for a short while longer until the party catches sight of a single caravan just ahead, traveling at a speed that doesn't exactly give the notion of rush. Unlike the others this wagon appears to be in no hurry at all, however what catches the attention of the companions even more so than this is that it's traveling in the wrong direction. Whereas others are fleeing from Harken to escape the chaos, this particular group of individuals appears to be nonchalantly traveling straight into the eye of the storm as if they have no idea what stands before them, or maybe they just don't care.

Roland holds his hand out signalling the others to stop, "I've got a bad feeling about this one guys, there's something about that group of men. I say we approach with caution from this point onwards."

The others nod in agreement and continue forward, hands poised to draw to their weapons should anything happen that results in a need for violence. They approach at a normal pace, attempting to keep their distance but all the while acting as though not to take notice of the men. The distance between the two traveling groups closes quickly with there yet to be an incident as Laire and the other companions approach the caravaners from behind. The men ahead of them, four upon first count, appear to be garbed in a light chain armour with a cloth shirt brandishing a large gray ring insignia. Suddenly one turns his gaze to the travelers, finally seeming to become aware of their presence and halts abruptly, almost knocking over two of his companions. Following his gaze the others turn to the group, placing their hands on their weaponry and scowling at the adventures as though annoyed by their appearance.

The man of obvious authority steps forward, and speaks to them in a warning tone, "You had best turn around travelers, these roads are no longer safe. Not even for gentleman as heavily armed as yourselves."

Laire responds to the man with equal assertiveness, "I assure you sir that we can handle ourselves."

Furrowing his brown, the man unsheathes his blade slightly. "Don't misinterpret me Eladrin. That was no request."

Thyllan steps forward this time, "Was that a threat I just heard?"

"Yes, and you'd be wise to heed it."

Thyllan chuckles mockingly, "Make me."

The man motions to pull his blade from its sheath, but before the blade even makes it halfway, Thyllan lets fly the large two-ended axe he had been brandishing this whole time and cleaved the mans skull with a bloody crunch. The man's body slumps to the ground moments after the axe is pulled from his caved in head, soaking the surrounding dirt a deep red. His companions react quickly, rushing towards Laire and the companions with simultaneous cries of anger that quickly turn to that of pain as their wild swings miss their targets. Laire now crouching low to the ground holds one of his twin katars deep within the chest of one of the men, wrenching it from him with a twist and a sickening sucking sound as it slides out soaked in the blood of its victim. Urist stands opposite of Thyllan in a similar pose after just cleaving the third mercenary's head clean from his neck, sending it rolling several feet across the ground. Behind the three stands Roland, bow in hand after just releasing an arrow into the eye of the fourth and final man. Hearing the commotion four more men climb from inside the caravan, these ones far more heavily armoured than the previous men as they step forward covered in a steel plate armour, each holding a large two-handed blade. These men don't make it far however, stopping dead in their tracks as the cart begins to violently shake back and forth. All eight men stand there, staring at the wagon in awe and confusion as angry begin to come from with the vehicle. The four armored men appear very worried, backing away as large chips of wood begin to rip from the wagon's body. The side of the wagon explodes outwards, shrapnel flying in all directions as a rather large man clad in a heavy plated suit of solid gold. He carries no weapons as he steps towards the four soldiers, creating a rather ominous and intimidating atmosphere. He merely lifts one hand to the men and after a pause that seems to last for an eternity a ferocious flame bursts from his palm and completely envelops the gladiators. Screams of pain and terror echo through the forest as the men are literally cooked inside their armour. Several moments pass before the flames finally die down, leaving four seared and smoking suits of armour that arre now welded into the positions the each stood in at the time of their demise. The golden armoured man turns to Laire and the others, each taking a defensive stance as he begins his approach, expecting the worst. However, the least likely thing occurs as the man stops several steps from them and his previously intimidating demeanor seems to vanish as quickly as it appeared.

He lifts his hands in what is probably the friendliest gesture as one of his appearance can muster and speaks to the group, a metallic voice being what's heard. "I would like to formally thank you my friends, you were able to create just the right distraction for me to finally escape from capture. Thanks to this rather violent incident I shall no longer have to worry about having to work under some deranged dark mage, doing what only the god's may know for the man."

Urist is the one to respond to the unexpected greeting, "Well, if by chance the man you're referring to is one by the name of Nazin, then by chance you may wish to accompany us to Harken. We could always use the help in tearing him from his ill-begotten throne."

After some contemplation, the man of metal chuckles a little, "The chance to destroy a man who sought to make me a slave in his army? I'd be a fool to pass up on such an offer. I shall accompany you to Harken for the sheer pleasure of personally burning him into an early grave." A small ball of flame appears above his hand, "And oh shall he burn," he says with an evil voice as he rolls the fire between his fingers.


	3. Bodies in the Well

The air reeks of smoke and ash, a thin gray haze hanging over the forest, obscuring the treetops and the bright blue sky above. The smell of burnt corpses of men and the charring of the surrounding trees wafts through the air, an ugly reminder of yesterday's battle and a warning of the battles yet to come. The iron-clad bodies of corrupt mercenaries now little more than blackened silhouettes in the blaze as flames dance upon their flesh. They slaughtered those men, they piled their bodies on the wreckage of the shattered caravan and they set the scene ablaze, a sign to Nazin and his men that they were coming for him. As long as this "New Alliance" was on his trail, there was nowhere for him to run or hide and already they've made sure of making this fact known to him.

They leave the nightmarish scene behind them, hoping to cover the remaining distance to Harken before the day is through. The journey is long and quiet, not one of the men willing to speak after the exhausting few days they've been through. Having witnessed their first taste of the mission at hand they know that the road ahead will be treacherous and soaked with blood of soldiers and innocents alike. His mind weary and his body tired, Laire can't help but look down at his hands as he walks along, thoughts and memories of the past filling his mind.

"Many a men have died at these hands." His mind flashes to the night of the battle outside Orodreth's homestead." And many more will soon follow those men." Blood begins to collect on his hand in small pools. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself for the lives these hands have taken." The blood now flowing in thick rivers from his hands, dripping and oozing onto the ground beneath him. "The husbands that will never again return to their wives, the fathers who will never be able to watch their sons and daughters grow to adulthood. Can I ever face those men when my time comes? How will I be judged by the gods? Am I really any better than the men I've killed?" He looks up, an image of Arlan now standing before him. "And how will I ever be able to face you again?" A friendly hand grabs hold of his wrist, knocking him from his living nightmare. He looks to the figure, the grim smile of a rather short man before him pulls him back to reality.

"It's okay lad, we're in this together. You don't have t' carry that load on your own anymore."

Urist's words bring a smile to his face, glad with the knowledge of the new friends that stand beside him in this battle. The dwarf slaps him on the back with a hardy laugh, almost sending him reeling over as he attempts to catch his breath again.

"Now cheer up me boy, can't have you losin' focus when we need ye the most"

He nods, feeling a little more at ease considering his circumstances and trudges on, pushing thoughts of the past to the back of his mind. The next few hours are spent joking back and forth between the men and telling hilarious tales of their past lives.

Smile on his face, Laire looks to Urist. "So, tell me Urist, how was it you managed to end up locked up in that prison earlier when we met?"

"Well, truth be told lad, I was mindin' me own business in that there tavern in Fallcrest, drinkin' the night away and doin' what all self-respecting dwarves do when ye give 'em a pint. Was havin' a right good time with some of the local boys when off the streets walks the sorriest excuse for a man I've ever laid me eyes upon. He sits down at the table beside us and asked the barkeep for some bloody water! Who does that? So I finished me drink and let 'em have it."

Slightly shocked, Laire can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the story he just heard and almost doubles over onto the road, his sides aching from laughing so hard.

"What's so funny lad?"

"You Urist, you're by far one of the strangest men I've ever met."

The day wears on, the sun beginning its descent when a small farm house appears in the distance. Tired from the day's travel the men near the house, hoping to maybe find shelter for the night. All seems well enough as they near the homestead, but suddenly Xenos stops, holding his large metallic hand out, signalling for the others to do the same.

Urist pipes in first, "What's wrong?"

His deep, tinny voice responds in a hushed tone. "Something seems off about this place, I suggest we approach with caution from this point onward."

Nodding in understanding the others follow suit, slowing their pace, their hands on their weapons in case of danger. Slowly climbing the slight hill to the home, Roland spots something and signals to the others accordingly.

"A good dozen men, all heavily armed. I think these might be the same as the guys we encountered earlier."

Thyllan unsheathes his axe. "Alright, time to lop some heads off."

Xenos holds out his heavy arm to stop him. "I've got a better idea."

Annoyed, Thyllan looks at him sarcastically. "What do you suggest tin man?"

Ignoring the comment, Xenos continues. "I say we take these fools by surprise. Laire, Roland, you two go up that side wall there and cause a distraction then the three of us will charge them from the south here."

Roland and Laire both nod in agreement, and begin slowly working their way along the low, western stone wall that surrounds the enclosure. Literally crawling along the wall, they finally reach a spot they decide should be good to attack from. Pulling a small mirror from his pocket, Roland uses it to look over the wall and judge the situation. He looks to Laire, signalling that there are two men standing just a few feet behind the wall. Readying some shuriken, Laire presses himself against the wall and waits for Roland's signal. Roland readies his bow and nods to Laire, the signal given. The two rise over the low wall in unison, Laire hurling half a dozen shuriken, Roland firing a small volley of arrows. To their surprise only a few of the shots actually collide with their targets, bloodying the two mercenaries while the others bounce off their plated armor with a clang and scatter in various unpredictable directions. They seem to have succeeded at one thing though, catching the attention of the now angered and annoyed soldiers.

Swords now raised, the men both charge at Laire and Roland, swinging downwards at them with large heavy claymores. Reacting before they even have a chance to think, the two duck down behind the wall, narrowly dodging the blows as the swords bury into the stone with a loud cracking sound. They grab their own blades, taking the opportunity for what it is and jump over the wall, kicking both men square in the chest. The men stumble back, disarmed, and realizing they're at a disadvantage turn to retreat. One of the men stops short as a large lance of solid light blasts through the courtyard, tearing a large gaping hole through his mid-section. The other man, more afraid than ever now turns course for a small tool shed no more than ten and five feet away in an attempt to barricade himself away from the carnage.

Using an old technique he was taught back in his days as a Watcher, Laire takes a single step forward. The world shifts and bends around his figure, a small rift between planes opening around him as he steps from this world into the fey for a split moment, only to reappear within the tool shed a good dozen or so feet from where he stood earlier. To the others, however, it would appear as though he just vanished from existence and appeared several feet away in the exact same instant. He kicks in the door with crunch as the wood splinters outwards and his foot collides again with chest of the guard that just attempted to escape him. Catching the man before he can even fall to the ground, Laire brings his hand around, knocking a few large wooden splinters from the air as he pierces his katar completely through the man's heart, a quick and painless death dealt. The remains of the door clatter around him at his feet as he pulls the blade from his victim's chest, the grating sound of steel against steel ringing through the air.

Before him stands Thyllan and Urist locked in hand to hand battle with a small contingent of Iron Circle mercenaries, Xenos a small distance away firing small bolts of energy from his hands at one that has taken to firing arrows at him while hunkered below the cover of a small stone well. Stopping his barrage, Xenos waits for the man to poke his head up one more time and when he does a single dart of magic fires from Xenos' finger, burning a hole through the center of the man's skull. He turns to aid Thyllan and the dwarf, however someone beats him to it as two arrows smash throw one of the windows of the home and find home in the temples of two of the remaining men. The two men left attempt to catch the dwarf and Dragonborn in one go, swinging their large blades in symmetrical, horizontal great arcs. Their attempt proves in vain though, Urist using his short stature to drop beneath the blades, Thyllan jumping over them in a great leap. Two identical gut wrenching sounds of metal and bones being sheered apart break the air as the men are both cleaved clean in half by the blade of their once companion. The bodies slowly slump to the ground as they fall into two, a moment passing before their blood begins to flow again and collect in a large pool on the ground.

Panting, breathing heavily the group collectively sheath their weapons, another battle coming to its bloodied end. The door of the house swings open and two figures step forth into the dimming sunlight. One, a Tiefling wielding her bow in hand, her red skin, curled horns and long tail giving her a slight demonic look when hit by the glow of the setting sun. The other, a tall Eladrin female clad in pure white cleric robes embroidered with a brightly shining star, the symbol of Corellon.

The cleric addresses the group first, a hint of irritation on her voice. "It's about time someone showed up to help us out here. We've been attempting to keep these men at bay almost all day now."

Already knowing he's not going to get along with this woman, Laire responds with as much sarcasm as he can muster. "You're welcome."

She looks to him in disgust. "Well what do you suppose we do with these bodies now? No doubt there will be more to come if we leave this mess here. And the last thing the poor family inside there needs is even more harassment from idiots like the ones you just dealt with."

A large smile on his face, or what can only be assumed as a smile, Xenos wordlessly picks up one of the bodies and drops it into the depths of the dried up well. "Problem solved."

Urist chuckles at the man of iron. "Well with that out of the way, I think we could use a well-deserved rest."

Without even waiting for her response, the men clean up the rest of the bodies and walk into the small rundown home. Awaiting them in the dining room at the rear of the house is a small family of four, all huddled in the corner from fear of the men that were once outside.

Thyllan steps forward, somehow diplomatic all of a sudden. "You should know that those men shall never be bothering you again anytime soon. However I can't help but ask why is it that you had such a large group of armed men outside your door waiting for a reason to kick in your door?"

A small man steps forward, presumably the father. "They're men of Nazin. After we refused to pay his taxes he sent us a few warnings in the form of brutes and threats. What you just dealt with was the result of us denying his warnings for the last time. I'm glad you people came along when you did, they had given us only an hour to come up with the appropriate gold before they set the house on fire."

The wife steps forward next. "Yes, thank the gods you arrived when you did. You must all be exhausted though, you look like you've been through hell and back. Please, allow us to return the favor somehow, feel free to spend the night here if you wish, we have plenty of room and more than enough food to sate your hunger I'm sure."

It's Urist's turn to speak up this time. "We appreciate the hospitality madam, and I believe we just may take ye up on the offer."


	4. The Vanishing Act

Far to the south of Mithrendain lies a mysterious place known as the Lake of Dreams. Hidden away deep within the High Forest and only known to the slim few lucky enough to stumble upon its location, the natural beauty of the lake and its surroundings are unmatched anywhere in the land of Faerûn. The waters of the lake lay so still as to give image of a large mirror in the earth, reflecting the stars and moon upon its clear turquoise face. The grand trees of the High Forest surround the lake, standing far above the earth, their deep green canopies forming a great wall as to protect this hidden paradise from the influences of the outside world. On rare occasion one of the few with knowledge of the lake will come to gaze upon its enchanting beauty and enjoy the peacefulness of the oasis that exists amidst a sea of chaos.

Adjusting his position he knocks the boat a bit, causing it to rock side to side in a slow and gentle motion. He gazes up at the stars, taking in the peaceful bliss of the cloudless night. In a world filled with hate and corruption it's these hidden places of natural beauty where he feels most at ease. Lowering his gaze, he smiles when his eyes fall upon her, the pale moonlight reflecting off her silken blonde hair creates the appearance of a golden halo around her visage. He runs his fingers through her hair, caressing the soft skin of her cheek as he leans back and closes his eyes. A light wind sweeps his hair aside as the world begins to fade from his view. The world slowly fading to black, the wind grows louder and begins to speak.

"Laire…"

"Time to wake up boy."

Ignoring the voice he rolls onto his side and is suddenly jarred awake as his body is shaken quite vigorously. Fearing that the boat had tipped over he leaps to his feet and then pauses for a moment as his brain puts effort towards to figuring something out.

"How am I standing? And why am I not neck-deep in icy cold water"

He opens his eyes, finally beginning to realize his surroundings and jumps back in surprise when he finds a very hairy dwarf staring him down mere inches away from his face.

"Rise and shine me boy, time for us to hit the road"

Clutching his chest, attempting to calm his racing heart, Laire responds short of breath and annoyed.

"By the gods Urist, never do that to me again! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

He smacks the short man on the side of his head, irritated by his own embarrassment and collects himself.

Urist replies whilst rubbing his head, a sheepish green still upon his face, "couldn't help meself lad, you seemed t' be havin' quite the enjoyable dream there. Now get up and grab your things, we're heading out. We've got a lot of distance to make-up after our recent distractions."

With a sigh Laire grabs his gear, tightening his knife belt and throwing on his pack and traveler's cloak. He places his two blades back in their appropriate holsters on either hip then thanks the owners of the home for their hospitality and bids them farewell before running outside to join his awaiting companions. To his slight surprise, it appears that the two from yesterday will be joining them as they too stand there waiting to head out. He thinks to himself, some conversing must have gone on while he was buried in his memories. As he laces his boots for travel, Laire notes the rest of the group leaving, Urist pausing only to enthusiastically wave him forward. Hurrying to finish, he stamps his feet to settle them, and sprints towards his departing group. Opting not to talk to the complete strangers that have joined them just yet he walks up alongside Urist and decides to question him instead.

"So what's the story with the two new recruits?"

Urist looks back at him, slightly confused at first before realizing, "Ah yes, I suppose we forgot to mention it to ye, Sariel and Aluthyra will be joining us from this point onwards. It appears that they have a bone t' pick with that Nazin fella we've been hired to take down. Oh and I'm assumin' you'll be wantin' t' know which is which yes?"

Laire responds, nodding. "Well yeah, might make communication a bit easier."

Urist nods in understanding and motions to the two ahead of them. "The one on the right there, the cleric of Corellon."

"The uptight one from yesterday."

Urist can't help but chuckle at this interjection. "Yes, that one, she goes by the name Sariel. And her tiefling friend, that'd be Aluthyra."

Noting this to himself, Laire continues. "I'm assuming she's the one that managed to take out two men in one shot yesterday?"

"That'd be her, yes. A little frightening when you think about it actually, she may even be able to give Roland there a run for his money with skill like that." Urist nods towards the elf walking slightly distanced from the others.

About an hour's travel goes by with little event and few words exchanged, everyone still somewhat tired from the exertion of yesterday. The worn, wooden rooftops of civilization break over the horizon in the distance, bringing slight relief to the company as they near their intended destination. They pick up the pace, hoping to reach the city before noon so that they can restock on supplies. From the distance, the city looks entirely normal. Lacking prior knowledge, one would never be able to tell that this city had become the target of one man's mad plot to overthrow a king. One detail does appear slightly off however, one that would be easily overlooked by the passerby. The roads and streets lack life, the eerie silence both peaceful and disheartening to the adventurers.

Few people are found wandering the city interior, the remnants of those who refused to leave or lack the ability to do so. The majority of those they see are soldiers garbed in the traditional colours of the Harkenwald militia. The somber faces of men preparing for war. Men who have left their families behind, vowing to return home when the evil is vanquished. These men have chosen to throw their own lives on the line to protect that which they hold dearest. Many of these men will never again return home, this sad truth of war prominent in their minds as they trudge onwards. The sight is both heartening and depressing; it rips happiness from ones heart and replaces it with the ever hotter flames of a warrior's fighting spirit. The image of the soldiers renews the resolve of Laire and his companions, having now found their reason to fight, and they walk onwards to the center of Harken. There they shall speak with the king himself and there they shall decide upon their strategy to bring this war to as quick and as peaceful an end as possible.

They make quick work of getting to the city's center, the immense stone structure of the hall of kings looming over them. The gothic appearance of its visage intensified by the great shadow it casts over them, the large keep exudes an air of that which has seen many wars. Thyllan at the forefront of the party walks forward and pushes the large wooden doors aside as they enter, a resounding creak echoes through the incredibly spacious room. A pair of guards attempt to stand in their way and stop them but they nudge them aside, completely oblivious to their presence. One man of obvious authority steps forward from the grand table at the center of the room, his face in a scowl, annoyed by the sudden interruption.

"Halt! Who dares barge in on his lordship? We are extremely busy at the moment with preparations for the coming war and have no time for such interruptions." He speaks with a thick, rugged accent, spitting a little with each word. His gray and grizzled beard obscuring the anger in his face, his cheeks turn a bright shade of red as he yells.

Laire goes to speak, but is cut off by Sariel as she steps forward. "We would be the group of adventurers that have been kind enough to decide to offer ourselves to your cause and we recently just dispatched a good dozen or more of those damned mercenaries in our attempts to get here, which is probably more than you yourself have done in the last week. Now if you'd care to accept our offer I suggest you sit your ass down and shut that mouth of yours before we change our minds."

The man, completely blown away by the response, stands with his mouth agape for a moment before he finally attempts to stutter in a rebuttal. "N-n-now listen here missy!" but he's stopped short as a tall, handsome man steps forward and puts his hand up to silence the veteran soldier.

"You'll have to excuse my friend here; this battle has been very stressful on us all with many a sleepless nights as we attempt to bring about an end to this calamity. Angus here is my most trusted general and my right-hand man, he's seen more than his fair share of what this war has to offer. I am Lord Darr, earl of this land." His voice is that of a man of wisdom, one who has experienced many of the world's secrets and yet it contains the elegance of royalty in the eloquence of his pronunciation, a voice that would cause many a women's hearts to flutter at the very sound of it.

Laire speaks this time, not allowing Sariel another chance to cut him off. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance your majesty." he bows slightly, "We hail from Fallcrest, sent by the mayor to come assist you in these troubled times. Unfortunately though, we encountered much hindrance during our travels and will require a place to rest and replenish our supplies before we can be of any real assistance to you."

Darr nods in understanding, "Of course, I shall get one of my men to escort you to the market. As for a place to rest, we are rather lacking in rooms at this time but you are more than welcome to set up camp anywhere around town." He raises his hand to stop them before they leave, "However, if you are going to assist us in these matters then first we must discuss strategy."

Motioning them over to the table, Darr brings their attention to a rather large map of Harkenwald and its surrounding area, each of the major cities drawn across its surface in full detail. The map is scattered with pins and markings of known enemy contingencies and allied forces. The Iron Circle mercenaries, marked with small wooden figures, consume a massive majority of the layout, appearing to hold a large advantage over the Harkenwald militia as far as sheer force of numbers is concerned. One point stands out amongst the rest however. Just to the northwest of Harken there stands a large concentration of the forces for both sides, and this is what Darr draws their attention to first.

Pointing to the mass of troops, Darr beckons for them to come closer. "As you can very well see, we have concentrated the majority of our forces here at Torr's Hold. This is where Nazin hides himself, ever since he took it over 3 moons ago." He sighs, looking greatly disappointed. "Unfortunately for us it is a near impenetrable fortress and with our current numbers we have no hope of breaching those defensive walls. We need reinforcements."

Thyllan leans back, crossing his arms. "And I suppose that's where we come in?"

"Indeed" motioning to the map, Darr points out two locations "Here to the south, far into the forest, there is a large encampment of elven nomads. They have the best archers in the land and a great number of excellent healers that could desperately use. And to our north here lies the dwarven underground city of Hammerfast. They have always helped us in the past, but from what our scouts report they are having their own problems fighting off an infestation of Bullywugs. If you assist them in this matter then I'm sure they will pledge their swords to our cause."

Urist step forward, pressing his fist to his chest in a pledge of loyalty "You'll have those men your lordship, we cannot allow this man to continue his rampage."

Nodding in approval, Darr motions them to the door. "I look forward to the good news. I know I can trust you with this. Now if you'll excuse me I must discuss some matters of a more delicate state with Angus, Richard can escort you to the market." He calls over one of the guards positioned at the door and relays the order.

The armored knight bows as he introduces himself. "Commander Richard at your service gentlemen-" Sariel coughs. "And ladies. Lord Darr has informed me that you require an escort to the market so that you can re-provision yourselves, so if you would follow me then I would gladly lead you there."

They head to the great wooden doors and exit the hall, leaving the earl and general to their discussions. Richard navigates the winding roads with ease, leading them through the city to what remains of its once massive market district. Once there he bids them farewell and directs them to an old tower on the south edge of town where they are welcome to set up camp if they wish.

They make haste of locating the general goods store and find it with quite a bit of ease, a small establishment called "Halfmoon's Trade Goods". Laire pauses for a second when he sees the name, and happens to catch Urist's attention as he falls behind the group.

"Somethin' botherin' ye boy?"

Laire contemplates for a moment, "Not sure, this place seems familiar somehow but I can't put my finger on why."

With a shrug he continues forward, following behind the others as they enter through the small front door of the building.

A bell chimes as the door swings open and they're immediately welcomed by the smiling face of a rather elderly looking Halfling woman.

"Welcome to Halfmoon's Trade Goods, I'm Seldrin Halfmoon! How can I help you fine adventurers today?"

Laire almost falls over in his tracks, the shock on his face quickly turning to an impish smile as he tries to contain his laughter.

Urist looks over at him once more, with a slight serious expression on his face this time. "Whass the matter with ye boy? Get a hold of yerself."

Laire lets out a muffled laugh, desperately trying to hold back his amusement. "Pfft… I can't help it… keh… Did you notice the name Urist? Does this lady not seem familiar to you at all?" he snickers a little, covering his mouth with his hands.

A brief pause from Urist, but his face seems to light up when he finally realizes. "Why, she bears a striking resemblance to that Halfmoon fella back in Fallcrest that Thyllan went and frightened so much that he damn near wet himself."

All Laire can manage at this point is a nod and a muffled 'mhm' else he may just burst at the seams.

The little shopkeeper takes notice of the ruckus and with a raised eyebrow questions if everything is alright with those two.

Laire, finally managing to regain his composure responds with a nod. "Everything's fine Miss, now let's get done to business shall we?" quickly wiping his tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Indeed. Now what is it that you might be looking for?"

Sariel jumps in, leaving no room for anyone to speak up. "We require a few days rations and I happen to be in need of a new holy symbol for my healing rituals, the last one was lost during a scuffle with some bandits you see."

The Hafling seems almost overjoyed and runs off to the back of her shop. "Ah, yes, I believe I have exactly what you are looking for."

Meanwhile, as the shopkeeper rummages through her goods, a small object happens to catch Laire's eye from one of the shelves. The sunlight hitting it at just the perfect angle sends the slight glint of metal and glass into his eye.

"Pardon me, but while you're at it could you grab that interesting looking piece sitting on the shelf there?" He points in the direction of the object, "I'm slightly curious as to what it is."

"Absolutely." She replies "I'd be more than happy to grab that for you.

Not long after, she comes back with a stack of wrapped packages filled with dried meats and breads, enough to last about 5 days when divided amongst them, along with two small metallic objects. The first she places in front of Laire, a small star-shaped blade with five points, each of which is hollowed out and has a small needle tip at the end. At the center appears to be a small hollow glass globe that connects to each of the blades and has a very tiny stopper on one side that opens and closes with a lock.

He twirls it in his hands a bit and inspects it closely. "Just what is this strange contraption?"

She replies with an all-knowing smile. "Ah yes, that right there is a deadly weapon crafted by a very young alchemist that passed through here a while back. It is a throwing blade meant for silent assassination, and that little glass ball in the center, it's to hold poisons that leak out of the blade tips through those needles when they've hit their target."

Without even taking his eyes from the piece he continues to ask. "How much?"

"3 gold pieces"

"Done." He slams the money down onto the table without a second thought and quickly pockets the item.

The shopkeeper now turns to Sariel with a smile and holds out a small white-gold pendant shaped in the likeness of sun. "This here is the light of Corellon, 'tis a small amulet blessed with the magics of Corellon himself. The say it holds great power that only a truly devoted follower of the path of purity can unveil."

Catching wind of this conversation Laire thinks to himself. "Likely story there and I bet this uptight cleric is just dense enough to fall for it too. Oh well though, I think I can work with this so-called 'great power'." He then decides to play a fun little joke on the two and reaches for the pendant. "Mind if I take a look? Something about this pendant seems a little off to me…"

The shopkeeper slightly put back by this replies with a huff. "Well of course, but I assure you that my goods are only of the finest quality."

Timing this perfectly Laire continues to reach out for the amulet and just as he grabs a hold of it, he and the amulet vanish right before the eyes of everyone in the room. Silence fills the room as everyone, now completely shocked by what just happen, just stands there and stares at one another in amazement. The shopkeeper, in her old age, faints from the sight of what had just occurred in her store and collapses onto the floor with a dull thud and a crash. The others, not exactly sure what to do at this point, shuffle their way to the door, scratching their heads and mumbling to each other in confusion and slight worried tones. To their surprise however as they step outside they find Laire, leaning against a tree with a sheepish grin on his face as he tosses the amulet up and down in his hand. "Gotchya."

Sariel stumble with her words a bit out of sheer anger and annoyance. "What? How? Just what the hell do you think you're doing Laire? Are you trying to get us all thrown in jail? I mean seriously! That poor old woman just passed out in there, probably traumatized by your idiotic little prank."

He tosses the amulet to her with a chuckle. "Relax would you? No harm done, she'll never know what happened, and hey, you get a free amulet out of it. So how about a thank you?" He walks past her with a smirk and continues on down the road. "Now how about we go find a place to set up camp? I'm getting kind of tired."

Completely flustered and irritated by the man, Sariel manages no more than some annoyed stutters in response while he walks away. "Idiot."

Not long after, the group finds their way to the small, decrepit ruins of what may or may not have once been a guard tower. The ceiling of the first floor seems intact enough however and the room is just wide enough to fit them all with little discomfort. They decide to hold here for the night and set up camp with a small fire to warm the cold interior of the fallen stone structure.

The others make their way to bed, Sariel and Laire holding watch as they do not require sleep and merely meditate to regain their lost stamina. Laire, being bored with sitting and not feeling all that tired however, decides to do a little investigating and goes to check out the upper floor of the small tower.

He stands without much effort and quietly makes his way over to the edge of the broken ceiling that separates the two floors.

Sariel grumbles to him as he walks off. "Just where do you think you're going?"

"Oh shut up and mind your own business would you? I'm still in the mood for a little fun so just go back to your boring watch duty."

He takes a few steps back and after measuring the distance between the two floors he makes a quick sprint forward and jumps up towards the stone ledge of the second floor. Having misjudged the distance slightly though, his legs collide with the ledge and he stumbles slightly as he tries to regain his footing. He brushes himself off, hoping that little accident won't leave any bruising in the morning and silently looks around while his eyes adjust to the lack of lighting from the fire. The room is dark and other than some dusty tables and a chair or two the only thing that really catches his eye is a small dresser in one of the far corners. He approaches it slowly, careful not to trip over anything else and makes his way over to the small wooden dresser. Kneeling before it, he wipes some of the dust of and fumbles with the rusted handle a bit in his attempt to pry the thing opening.

After some effort it opens with the sound of creaking metal and the splitting of old wood and reveals a mostly empty interior other than a dusty old traveler's cloak and what appears to be a small golden ring. After dusting the robe off, he decides he's taken somewhat of a liking to it and throws it on after discarding his old one into his pack. He pockets the ring, deciding it's too dark outside to get a good enough look at it and decides to inspect it more thoroughly in the morning. He walks to the edge and drops back down to the ground floor without so much as a sound and makes his way back to his bedroll. He watches the stars from there, images of a faraway home and old memories flooding his eyes as he fades out into a deep trance.


End file.
